Lessons of Life
The Best Medicine
by
Elwing-(V)
January 28, 2006
Stories > Lessons of Life Series > Previous story "Midnight
Musings" > "The Best Medicine"
> Next story "How
to Dim a Too-Bright Elf"
Legolas decided his friend had been lazy long enough and went to roust
him. Entering the guest room designated just for Strider, the prince
could tell at a glance that the Ranger pretended to sleep. Moving
silently to the bedside, the elf stared intently at his friend for some
moments; the man’s latest skirmish had earned him a few reasonably
severe injuries, though none life-threatening. Strider’s fellow Rangers
could have completely treated him themselves, but had instead done only
basic ‘patching up’, then hustled him to Mirkwood for detailed
attentions.
Their excuse being Elven healers
leave less scarring to stitched human skin, and, Valar knows, Strider
can use all the help granted in that aim - the man is a mobile magnet
to danger and hurt! Legolas had learned the group ran into their
trouble while already enroute to the elf’s home territory; the other
Rangers had felt the visit necessary, as Strider was becoming morose
over a long absence from his elven best friend.
The prince smiled down at the swaddled form currently making soft
(fake) snoring sounds. He carefully slid onto his knees atop the covers
beside the man, then bounced up and down while commanding loudly, “Rise
- and - shine - you - great - lump - of - ooof!” Legolas was shoved
mid-bounce off onto the floor. A most disgruntled face peered over the
mattress at him.
“I’m rising, already, but I refuse to shine. Dratted easy thing for an
Elf to say, glowing all over the place when a normal body just wants
some peace and quiet.” Strider continued to grumble as he untangled
himself from his bedcovers, stretching and popping somewhat stiff and
sore joints and muscles.
Legolas rose, shaking his head. “Never in my immortal life shall I
understand the peculiarities of Humans. You have done naught but moan
and groan about having been ‘imprisoned’ in the healing ward - now you
may enjoy your first official day out and you waste it languishing abed
like some fungus. Besides, we have plenty of peace and quiet - only
distributed more evenly here, as we enjoy the stars and moon as much as
the sun. Humans miss out on half of Arda’s beauties by deep-sleeping
through the night as you do.”
The man appeared to ignore the elf, though Legolas’ keen ears picked up
muttering about ‘wretched healer’s nasty sleeping draught’ as an excuse
for not being active at the crack of dawn. The prince winced at the
various noises Strider’s body made as the Ranger retrieved scattered
articles of clothing and began dressing. “I wonder if the healer erred
in allowing your leave yesterday - your insides sound as if breaking
apart!”
“No, I’m fine!” the man hastily assured to prevent summoning of said
healer. “I know it sounds terrible, but it doesn’t hurt at all. Observe
this.” Strider proceeded to crack all of his knuckles while the elf
watched wide-eyed. When done, the Ranger wiggled his fingers to show
they still worked as they should. “See? Perfectly fine!”
“That is both fascinating…and disturbing.” Legolas murmured, giving an
exaggerated shudder. After a few silent moments, the elf could not
resist teasing again, “So if causing your bones to crack is only some
form of exercise, I suppose those colorful greenish-purple splotches
over large areas of your skin are merely exhibits of orc artistry?”
“Oh, indeed, my greatest aspiration is to be the advertisement for
their ‘creative’ endeavors.” Strider grimaced at the amount of
tenderness yet lingering in the bruised areas. Seeing genuine concern
in his friend’s face, the man tried to hide his discomfort. “Truly, I
am greatly improved; these look much worse than they feel now.”
The Ranger gave a soft gasp as the elf’s fingers ghosted over a rib. Improved, mayhap, but not so greatly, I
deem. Preparing to argue, Legolas changed his mind at seeing the
determined set of Strider’s jaw as the man finished dressing to go out.
“I shall have to take your word on that; even so, we will not be doing
anything terribly strenuous today.” The elf’s tone was just as
determined, and the Ranger nodded agreement yet was reluctant to let
his friend have the last word.
“Going by your analogy, if I am but an orc canvas, you must be to them
but a walking container of pigment.” Gratified by the startled look on
the elf’s face, the man continued, “Whenever they have any contact with
you, they exhibit a single-minded desire to decorate every rock, twig,
and so forth, with as great a quantity of your lovely red ‘paint’ as
they can wring out.” His humor delighted in Legolas’ open-jawed gape.
“That is definitely disturbing. Ick! Do you realize you have just
caused me mayhap never to view another painting in a judgmentally
detached method?”
“Quite.” The smug response provoked a brief rude expression on the
other’s fair face; before words to match could be spoken, Strider
hurriedly attempted a distraction. “I am ready to face my adoring fans
now. You were saying we should not be wasting the day?” He sighed
inwardly in relief as his friend seemed willing to forgo further
argument.
A strange noise caught man’s and elf’s attention as they exited the
room. Legolas stared at Strider’s midsection when the noise repeated.
“Great heaven - you carry a live warg in your gut!”
“It’s not that loud,” the Ranger protested, face reddening as another
growl emerged from his stomach. “Or mayhap it is. I do believe the
‘beast’ may be placated by a quick visit to the kitchens.” Though his
recent trauma had not caused Strider any nauseous episodes, the Master
Healer had automatically dictated the human fed what was known as a
‘medical diet’ - mostly bland foods and no large portions - as a
precaution; after several days on it, the Ranger was now starving for a
real meal and his stomach was announcing its hunger vehemently.
“Do you desire to be returned to the healing ward so soon? Do you not
recall Master Chef threatened to take the meat mallet to you if he
again caught you filching goodies before they had been set out for
general consumption?”
“Nay, and aye.” Strider pouted as he rubbed his complaining stomach.
“You told me you have done your own fair share of filching…yet you
failed to mention receiving any ‘tenderizing’ treatment as a result.”
The Prince laughed. “First, I was too cunning to get caught. Second, if
I were to get caught, I should not be reprimanded - unless I filched
too many sweets - because it is Master Chef’s and apprentices’ duty and
honor to serve Mirkwood…” Legolas haughtily posed as stiff-backed
straight as he could, “and I AM Mirkwood.”
Strider made an elaborate bow. “Verily the embodiment of the mighty
forest.” Straightening, he gently rapped his knuckles against the elf’s
forehead, “Hmmm. Hard wood, indeed; I am appropriately impressed,” and
blithely ignored the piercing glare the elf fired at him. Despite his
jest, the Ranger was truly awed at how exactly the prince sometimes
mimicked his Elf King father. Deep in thought, the man cocked a brow in
unconscious imitation of his own fostering-father Elrond. “I had
mistaken you as only one little green leaf among all of the great
trees; a bright one, to be sure, if rather flighty in the breeze.”
“Flighty, you say? Rather term it agile, I advise to he who avoids
treetops, and cliff edges, and…”
“Silence, leaflet. I don’t actually fall off…well, not most times. I
prefer to never do that, and the best prevention is to avoid places
where I might, wouldn’t you agree?”
The elf’s eyes rolled in response. “Have you never heard that one
should face one’s fear to conquer it?”
“That platitude does sound familiar; and how do you suppose I might
follow such sage advise concerning my particular phobia? Mayhap I
should force myself to the top of the nearest highest structure and
heave myself forth from it. Following such an act, truly I should no
longer suffer from fear of heights, nor any other fears, for I shall be
DEAD.” When the expected retort did not materialize, the Ranger glanced
at his friend and was surprised to see the elf looking genuinely
distraught.
“That is not what I meant. I would you not say such a thing.” The soft
chastisement pained the man.
Ai, forgive me. The two often
made jokes about dire things that befell them, to mitigate the gloom of
such straits; yet always were the calamities bespoke brought about from
outside means - never would either being believe he could lose hope in
himself or the other enough to willfully cause his own demise. “Pay no
attention to my ramblings; my brain is unable to think properly, and my
tongue unable to utter sensible sentences due to my stomach attempting
to leave my body to fend for itself.” To emphasize the statement, the
man’s stomach chose that moment to make yet another loud protest at not
getting fed.
Legolas had quickly regained his usual lighthearted bearing; at hearing
the rumbling growl emitting from his friend, the elf took pity on the
Ranger. “Let us take care of that before you have the entire household
fretting we are under attack.” He led the hungry man to a wide hallway
near the kitchens where they found a long table laden with enticing
edibles.
“I thought we missed the morning feast.” Strider was nearly salivating
at the delicious smells and sights, yet refrained from snatching any,
nervously expecting the Chef to suddenly appear wielding the
aforementioned mallet.
“You did. I made a token appearance.” The prince handed a tray to
Strider before taking his own and gathering his favorite items.
“Morning Feast is at dawn, when we thank the stars and moon for having
graced the night, and welcome the blessings of the rising sun. Evening
Feast, at dusk, is to farewell the sun and greet the returning lights
that guide us through darkness. Both those events are most elaborate,
with more items presented; this, rather, is a lesser mainstay
throughout day and night. In their stand against the ever encroaching
evil that assails us, our warriors have not the luxury of a strict duty
schedule, and must take their breaks whenever they can, often with
little prior notice - providing ample nourishment that they stay hale
to their task is but small reward for their dedication.”
Strider nodded, temporarily sobered from joking at the reminder of the
reasons Greenwood was presently referred to as Mirkwood. Tis most fortunate and pleasant a
coincidence that, timed to my arrival, Mirkwood had begun to enjoy mild
respite from its onslaught by Dark forces; exactly the opposite of what
I or Legolas would have expected, considering our usual penchant for
attracting troubles. The man hid a wry grin at the last thought.
Taking a last critical look at their trays, the two decided they had
enough and made their way to a dining table. A comfortable silence
followed, interrupted only by an occasional ‘mmmm’ or ‘ahhh’. Strider
would have made a second trip to the serving table but for Legolas’
admonishment not to overextend his belly too quickly. The man patted
that comfortably full area and sighed, “I believe the monster within is
happily sated, at least until the next feast.”
“Aye, and mayhap for a change, we shall both manage to be in attendance
on time, moving under our own power, and decent rather than a mess of
bandages and reeking of salves.” Legolas nimbly avoided a strawberry
jam-coated finger aimed for his nose. Trays and utensils were taken to
a washing area, where man and elf also removed any lingering stickiness
from their hands and faces.
“Where to now, my Prince?” Strider felt remarkably refreshed, and eager
to be doing something physically active again.
“The stables. I believe your horse may be as enthusiastic about an
outing as you are.” Snagging a couple of apples as they passed the food
table a last time, the two went to visit their steeds. Strider’s horse,
Morril, though naturally well cared for, was still delighted to see his
master, especially upon scenting the apple treat. While watching the
great brown horse nuzzle and nibble at the man, Legolas was abruptly
made aware of his own steed’s bid for attention as Glosmir’s long,
pristine white head suddenly blocked the elf’s vision before lowering
to shove against the elf’s chest.
The prince chuckled as he offered his own apple treat to the begging
horse. For a while, elf and man were content to murmur nonsensical
endearments to their respective steeds, both animals responding with
more nudges and soft whickers or snorts. Once all traces of the apples
were gone, both horses indicated a desire to take their masters for a
long overdue ride.
Strider looked hopefully at his friend. “I feel able. I will even allow
you to choose our route.” His grand offer got a snort from both elf and
Morril. “Shh,” he whispered in the horse’s twitching ear, “I should let
him think he will be in command; putting up with an insufferably
haughty elf is yet better than putting up with an intolerably whiny
one.” The Ranger knew Legolas could hear every word, and was surprised
at not receiving an immediate swat for the utterance.
Instead, the prince vaulted onto Glosmir, and was at the stable door in
an instant. “I am keeping tally of your insults, human, and you will
assuredly get what is due you in the near future.” He smirked at the
flicker of dread that passed over his friend’s face. “Come now, though,
it is too pleasant a day to concern oneself with revenge.” As Strider
mounted Morril to join him, Legolas continued, “We shall ride to the
west quarter; that terrain is more open, fairly smooth and less apt to
invasion by foul creatures.”
They carried their weapons - better to have and not need them than to
need and not have them - though traveling in a relatively safe area,
and also ever mindful of being tracked by the prince’s faithful
bodyguard. Those two to three specially appointed and particularly
discrete warriors gave Legolas as much privacy as possible while
keeping their royal charge within either sight of their exceptional
elven eyes or in shouting distance of their keen elven ears.
On reaching more open range, Strider and Legolas galloped their steeds
steadily to and fro to the horses’ delight. With occasional rests
between, several races were run with various goals set as they sped
along. Morril’s smooth gait was an extra blessing to Strider as the day
progressed. Even so, I will likely
sit rather stiffly at the dinner table tonight.
After only a couple of hours, the man was irked to begin feeling the
effects of his exertion. Any hope he had of hiding his tiredness was
dashed by the elf’s voice. “I think we have given our fine mounts
enough heavy exercise for one day. They have performed well and deserve
a rest now.” The horses, though not dispensed of all their energy, were
content to be rubbed down and left to graze quietly awhile.
Strider hid his amusement at how Legolas had disguised the real reason
for the decision to stop. “Our grand steeds have indeed performed well,
and have done all the real work so far. We should at least prove our
constitutions to be as strong as theirs, else they will be ashamed to
carry us. So, what shall we do next?”
Legolas turned an exasperated look on him. “Mayhap you acquired some
strange addiction to the medicines you protest to abhor, to have become
such a glutton for abuse, and its aftermath. What we shall do next is
relax a bit, as your much more sensible steed is doing.”
Agreeing with Legolas, the animal mentioned nodded its head, then shook
it with a snort at Strider’s disagreeable expression.
“Fine. Let us at least gather some fruit to snack on so my internal
warg does not frighten the feasters tonight.”
“Fine. If it chooses to announce itself, I will probably get first
blame, as they will think I have smuggled in yet another wild creature
as I used to when I was but an elfling.” He easily recalled that happy
memory; as he had always the best of intent, the prince had never been
punished for hiding his ‘pets’, though the beasts often did cause
considerable discord and destruction when invariably getting loose in
the palace.
The two found several berry bushes and scavenged them, then spied a
tree containing several ripe fruits in its upper branches. Strider eyed
the scene warily. Even were I in the
best of condition, I would be hesitant to clamber up there to fetch
them. Deferring to Legolas’ greater agility in tree climbing,
the Ranger was surprised when the elf instead backed away from the
trunk. In the space of a moment, several of the largest fruits dropped
directly into Legolas’ outstretched hands. He tossed one to the
wide-eyed Ranger, who accepted with a wry grin. “Show-off wood-elf.”
He yelped as another fruit, less ripe and harder, bounced off his head.
He jogged out from under the branches, casting black glares back at the
tree, certain he could hear faint laughter in the rustling leaves.
Legolas followed at a more leisurely pace, smiling smugly.
Their repast was just the right amount to ease their hunger without
making them lazy for the remainder of the afternoon. Gathering their
weapons, and summoning the horses, Strider and Legolas began the return
to the Mirkwood palace. Giving the Ranger a thorough look-over and
satisfied with his diagnosis, Legolas took a detour towards the archery
range. “I deem this effort should not put undue stress on your healing
injuries.” The elf could not resist adding, “And while you are middling
handy with the sword, everyone knows you need much more practice with
the bow.”
Strider scowled. “You will be my first to challenge when I may again
‘middling’ wield my sword.” The elf busied himself setting up targets,
unperturbed by the man’s threat. “I never have quite comprehended why
you so value bow above sword,” the Ranger remarked conversationally.
“Of course it is practical for picking off a few opponents from afar,
thereby bringing little danger to the shooter; or until the enemy
realizes from whence his threat comes and closes the gap.”
As expected, Legolas bristled at the slighting of his weapon of choice.
To foil the Ranger’s baiting, the elf silently counted to ten and was
then able to reply calmly. “If one excels, as certain ones do, in the
attributes regarded archers, one may have no enemy left alive to close
a gap. In the case of overwhelming odds, a volley of arrows at least
lessens the attack numbers, and gives the archer time to retreat once
the foe does begin serious advance. To do any damage with a sword, the
swordsman must wait till his enemies are upon him.” Despite the
lightness to their discourse, Legolas knew how dangerous such an actual
event could be. When such is our
lot, I vow I shall use my full quiver to assist your odds be not
great, if exist at all they yet would.
The man was annoyed at the elf's controlled reaction to the tease, and
decided to try a different angle. “Mayhap you have a point or two.”
Both beings snickered at the unintentional pun. “Yet all too often ones
enemies are soon set upon one, even after an archer’s culling; in close
quarter, a bow then need be set aside, though arrows may still be used
like spears. Not as versatile as a blade, for an arrow must be hefted
just so to do its damage; a sword makes a killing strike from sides as
well as point. Of course you are aware of that, for you generally carry
your own long-knives just for such a happenstance.”
Legolas patted the Ranger’s head and spoke as if to a child, “I am, and
I do. Furthermore, I never said I did not like using blades, only that
I prefer my bow if its use is possible. Actually, in close quarter, the
bowstring may be used as a garrot; and the bow itself could give a
hefty blow… though I hope never would I need subject mine to such
horrid treatment.”
Strider was staring at the elf’s graceful longbow, seeing it in a new
light. I had not known he had given
strict thought to such things; I vow I shall assist he never have need
of putting his beloved bow to such a test. Breaking his glance
away, the Ranger gave a swat in his friend’s direction. “I accept
your ‘point’ for now, but when next we have blade practice, I will
decidedly have you acknowledge mine.”
“I am sure you will give your best shot at it,” the prince chuckled as
he set up the last target. Both man and elf returned to the shooting
line and took up their respective spots to shoot. As they took turns,
Legolas’ demeanor became all seriousness. The elf offered pointers from
time to time; the man accepted gratefully and gracefully, his aim
becoming truer as he implemented the advice. After a while, they began
to make challenge matches, of which Legolas was nearly always the
winner. Finally, after a particularly embarrassing loss, Strider
willingly conceded archery mastery to the prince. Even among other Elves and archers, he is
a prodigy with the bow.
Legolas, humming happily as he cleaned arrows, failed to notice the
calculating look Strider gave him; however, his attention was quickly
caught by the Ranger’s boast, “Although I have already admitted you can
best me, or probably anyone, in archery…and I would have to say that we
would likely end in a tie match in a sparring between my sword and your
knives…there is one area of combat that I would win over you with no
question. I suppose one might call it personal combat.”
Legolas’ eyes glinted as he gave the Ranger a distinctly sinister
smirk. “Alas, mellon nin, due to your…sensitive condition at the
moment,
I must decline in proving you a liar.” A second later, a puzzled look
crossed his face. “I consider our sparring one on one as ‘personal
combat’. To what then do you refer - hand to hand?” His puzzlement
changed to incredulousness. “You would challenge me to…wrestle you?”
Strider almost laughed aloud. “Nay, that’s not quite what I had in
mind.” Now his own smile became wicked. “Your choice of words earlier
came close, but were not quite accurate to my meaning; say rather I
would take you in combat that is…hand to rib.” At that, the Ranger
began to creep closer to the still unsuspecting elf.
Legolas resisted an inclination to run for dear life. What is he doing? Why am I just standing
here? What does he mean...’hand to rib’? Like lightning, the
answer struck him. “Oh, no, no, no; don’t you dare…!” Legolas backed
away from the advancing Ranger. Turning to flee, the elf was instantly
pounced upon and his torture began. When Legolas had been tickled to
breathlessness, Strider took pity and released him.
Legolas remained puddled on the ground while the man stood and
strutted, gloating. “So falls the mighty Elf Prince before the lowly
Human. Admit it…I have thoroughly bested you in this method of combat.”
Feeling able to finally speak coherently, Legolas rolled over and
stretched out on his back. Pointing an accusing finger, he intoned,
“You have assaulted the Royal Person of the Prince of Mirkwood.” He
glared as the Ranger snickered. “I have but to give one order to bring
a retinue of guards who would with no little glee drag your worthless
hide down to our dungeon to rot for your transgression.”
Strider snickered harder. “Mirkwood has no dungeon.”
“I amend my statement…they would gleefully and none too gently haul you
to our cellar to ferment.”
The man considered a moment. “That would be not such a harsh
punishment, for several draughts of your excellent wine would greatly
dull my distress.”
Legolas sat up and cocked his head to stare at his friend. “Your brain
is already fermented. We would of course remove all the wine first. And
your torture would be to watch us all drink it without offering you a
single drop.” He took great pleasure in the mock horror of Strider’s
expression.
“You are vile.” The man sat beside the elf and thought a moment more.
“That would initiate war between our realms, as naturally my elvin
‘kin’ would not let such an action go unchallenged. I imagine Elladan
and Elrohir would arrive here in great haste to rescue me.”
Now it was Legolas’ turn to snicker. “Don’t count on those ‘brothers’
of yours to be of any help - several times over the years, my father
has threatened to personally fling both of them in our cellar, in
irons, and then ‘lose’ the keys!”
“Ahh, right…I should be surprised he has managed to restrain from
having done so thus far. As for my Ranger kin, I suppose they would
just vote which among them would replace me and carry on. So, I guess I
have no other recourse than to throw myself on your generous mercy.” In
his most wheedling voice, the Ranger began to beg, “Pleeeease, don’t
imprison me in your dank, dark, wineless dungeon…sorry, cellar…most
gracious, forgiving, lovely, perfect, ow!” He rubbed the side of his
head where the elf had smacked him.
“I shall grant you complete pardon if you swear to never refer to me
thus again.”
“You have a deal.” As the elf returned to a reclined position, Strider
likewise flopped down to rest beside him, their heads nearly touching
as they gazed into the sky. Each began searching objects in shapes of
the clouds passing overhead; some sightings claimed bore remarkable
resemblance to their genuine counterparts, others required a wild
stretch of human or elf imagination.
Eventually, Legolas took note of the setting sun and rose with a deep
sigh. “We must be getting back, or we really will miss Feast.” He
reached and assisted the Ranger to his feet, frowning as the man
groaned. “Are you well?”
“I am fine.” His automatic answer was followed by a more truthful one.
“Mayhap I have overdone a bit, but it is inconsequential and will
pass.” He grasped the elf’s arm for attention, and steel-gray eyes
looked directly into sky-blue ones. “I have immensely enjoyed the whole
of this day and would not change any of it even if I could.”
The sparkle in the blue eyes echoed the sentiment. A whistle brought
the horses into range, and the companions soon set off again. “We will
have time for a nice hot soak before Feast,” Legolas assured. “That
will have you pliable again; not to mention clean.”
The elf urged Glosmir ahead, but Morril caught up quickly and the
Ranger retorted, “Prissy elf! It is not at all fair that grime adheres
to me and not to you. I do make an effort at cleanliness, so don’t
start preaching about my hygiene!”
“I only preach of things I know about, filthy human, so your hygiene
would not be one of them. Now…the lack of it, mayhap…”
Their argument continued all the way back to the stables, dissipating
as they settled the horses for the night. Entering the palace, elf and
man separated each to his own room to select personal toiletries and
clothing changes. Strider, having fewer items to choose from, finished
first and went to help Legolas make his choices.
The bath area they chose was large enough to accommodate several
guests, though Strider and Legolas were the only ones in attendance. A
misty steam rose from the pool of gently swirling water, to which was
added a fragrance of lavender and other soothing herbs. The elf slid
entirely into the welcoming bath, easily adjusting to the temperature;
the man had to ease himself in little by little, needing several
seconds to get each body portion comfortable before continuing. While
Legolas washed, the Ranger enjoyed simply soaking while noting with
amusement that his fair companion hardly needed a cleaning.
Sensing the watching eyes, Legolas turned and tossed the soap to his
friend. “You did say you actually know how to use this,” he teased,
referring to their earlier discussion.
Strider made a very rude face as reply, then began scrubbing in
earnest. Though I jest of it, I do
appreciate the feeling of being clean. He was still cautious in
tending to the bruised rib area, and could not quite stretch safely
enough to reach all of his back. The soap slithered from his hand, but
before he could retrieve it, the slick soap was grabbed by another hand.
The soap-snatcher moved behind Strider and began washing the previously
unreachable back area. “How are you feeling now?” Legolas ‘humph’ed at
the typical answer of ‘fine’ and briefly considered dunking the Ranger
repeatedly. Better judgment ruled, however, so the prince settled for
massaging his friend’s knotted shoulder and back muscles.
Heavenly. Strider had not
realized how tensed he’d been. Relaxing under Legolas’ ministrations,
the Ranger found the situation faintly ironic. I am supposed to be a healer of men…among
other titles, yet I am the one more often than not who needs a healing
touch. He decided reluctantly to dismiss the elf of his
self-appointed, and much appreciated, masseur service. “All right…NOW
I’m fine, and I mean it this time.”
Legolas sensed the unspoken ‘thanks’, and was glad to have been able to
render such small aid as he could to his heart-brother. As the elf
moved away, a hand on his shoulder halted him. “I believe it is your
turn now.”
“This is unnecessary, Strider, I’m…not…oh.” Legolas’ protest faded as
kneading of his shoulders proceeded; he was surprised to realize he
also had been more stressed than he’d thought. From worry over this silly human, no
doubt. Ah, he does have healing hands, in truth…Elrond should be proud
of his protégé. After a few more minutes, the
prince determinedly moved away again. “If we do not get out now, we
will either miss Feast or make an appearance half naked and dripping.
Besides,” Legolas raised one of Strider’s hands, indicating one of the
man’s fingertips. “You are starting to exhibit that oddity Humans have
after an extended exposure to water.”
All the Ranger’s fingers showed the same wrinkled ends, as if the skin
had suddenly stretched and gathered. Strider grimaced at the offending
digits. “It’s a mystery. They are always normal after an hour or so.”
He attempted to see past the swirling water to his feet. “My toes do
the same thing.”
Legolas was examining his own fingers, as smooth as always. “Really?”
He also peered downward, but even his eyes could not penetrate the
layers of bubbly swirls well enough to satisfy his curiosity. “If you
stay in long enough, would all of you react the same?” His eyes widened
as a sudden idea shocked him. “Is that why really aged Humans are so
wrinkled… because they have spent too much time in the water? Ai! I
have been sorely misguided in my reasoning for your aversion! We must
get you out of here at once!”
Strider scuttled back from the deranged creature. “Calm yourself!
That’s not what happens…not why we…idiot elf.”
Legolas’ retreat was hastened by threats of having his throat
‘massaged’. “I sincerely try to broaden my intellect and you insult me
for it. I am deeply wounded by your uncouthness.” He exited the bath as
easily and smoothly as he had entered. He toweled dry while the man was
still making his way to the steps of the pool.
The Ranger’s flush as he clambered out was not entirely from the warmth
of the bath; a hasty perusal had assured (relieved) him that only his
fingertips and toes had gotten ‘wrinkled’. A fresh towel was thrown at
him, and he hurried to catch up with his friend. After the two had
gotten partially dressed, Legolas began the intricate braiding of his
golden hair. Meanwhile, Strider readied shaving tools, preparing to
tackle the beard on his own face; after several days, the man’s hairy
growth had passed the scruffy stage, and he thought it now gave him a
rather distinguished appearance. And
who shall take notice? Mostly only other scruffy Rangers. Whether I
trim it, or take it off altogether, it will require maintenance,
therefore… He sighed, and took up his razor.
Looking into the mirror, the Ranger gave a small start, for Legolas had
silently approached and was staring over the man’s shoulder. The elf
reached slim fingers to stroke the beard, surprised at its softness.
“Here is another strange Human ritual.” Strider patiently waited to be
enlightened. “You have almost fur-like hair, yet you often cut it back
or off entirely, when it would protect you from excess of sun or
cold…either of which you do not tolerate well, and that is still
another oddity about Humans…”
“I don’t think there is enough time in existence for your undoubtedly
long listing of Human oddities. Aren’t we supposed to be in a rush to
go somewhere else? Leave me be then!” He gave a shove to the snickering
elf, who wisely decided not to further distract his friend while the
man had a sharp razor in his grasp.
Finally prepared, Legolas and Strider schooled themselves to more
serious countenance as they approached the gathering room. Although
Evening Feast was an event of celebration, and all attending could shed
their cares and be merry, there was still protocol to be followed and
genteel manners were expected. Strider, being a guest of honor, sat at
the high table with Prince Legolas and King Thranduil. Seeing the two
royals together, the man was again struck at how closely father and son
resembled each other.
Divining both the surreptitious glances and Strider’s thoughts, the Elf
King felt a tingle of exquisite humor start up within him. Knowing well
his mere presence was somewhat daunting to the human, Thranduil turned
his full attention to the soon-fidgeting Ranger. “Something in my
immediate vicinity seems to engage your observation, though you make
appreciable effort not to stare. Have I mayhap a stain on my robe, or
mayhap my hair is come loose of its braiding? I would know what causes
you such consternation; please, speak freely, Strider.”
The man gulped nervously. “Nay, my lord…or aye, I mean…your appearance
is impeccable.” He took a hasty swallow of water to ease his suddenly
dry mouth and tight throat. “I was only remarking to myself how alike
you and L…Prince Legolas are.”
“Mmmhmm.” Thranduil switched his piercing gaze to his son, who sat
stiffly at attention under the scrutiny. “I must agree that we do share
a great many similar physical characteristics; but surely one would
never have as difficult a time telling us apart as one would those twin
demons you call brothers.”
Elladan and Elrohir, identical twins, sometimes deliberately furthered
the usual confusion by dressing alike and mimicking each other’s
tiniest mannerisms. Legolas and Strider shared a brief amused glance -
rare now were the times the twins could fool them, in that manner at
least.
So their reputation has expanded
beyond the circle of poor Imladris inhabitants who have had the
misfortune of being pranked…repeatedly. I must be certain to tell my
brothers; they will be thrilled…or highly embarrassed. The
Ranger shelved that idea in his head as Thranduil’s gaze once more
rested on the man’s features. Hoping to minimize his awkwardness,
Strider rushed on, “Quite correct, my lord, yet of your comparison I
was considering not so much outward appearance, though that is of
course notable; rather I meant you two are much alike in stance,
manner, and even…in spirit.” His voice trailed off as he became aware
of all others going silent to better attend this particular
conversation.
The King found himself increasingly well impressed by the human. He shows a decent amount of diplomatic
flair; I shall reward him by allowing him his peace and bedeviling my
son instead. Thranduil flashed a quick wink at the astonished
man, then for a second time commanded the prince’s full attention with
but a single utterance. “Greenleaf.” Impossibly large crystal
blue eyes focused deeply onto glittering green ones. “I am curious if
you are in agreement with your friend’s assessment; think you we are so
very alike?”
The younger elf took a few seconds to consider. Here is one any and I should praise as a
fine Elf, a good being, an excellent King, and a wonderful father…
“I sincerely hope it,” he breathed fervently.
Thranduil blinked, his amusement overwhelmed by a surging tide of love.
“As do I,” he murmured, fingers caressing his son’s face. The King then
took his goblet and inclined it in a toast to the Ranger, who was
experiencing a great deal of pleasure for his friend, and a minuscule
bit for himself at having initiated the touching scene just witnessed.
“You possess an extraordinary gift of insight, Strider; may it always
serve you so well.”
With that, everyone picked up where their previous conversation had
left off, and the rest of the feast was a glorious muddle of chatting,
eating, drinking, then singing and eventually dancing, as well as other
intermittent entertainment.
Legolas finally noticed Strider unsuccessfully hiding a yawn. Saying a
few farewells, he gathered up the tired man and ushered him away from
the remaining revelers. Once in the quiet hallway, the Ranger admitted
his weariness. “But it is a good tired,” he protested to the elf’s
fussing. As soon as they entered the sleep room, Strider began removing
his most restraining clothing - belt first, then boots. He collapsed on
his bed as if unable to exert any further. “I fear I have quite
overextended my belly this night; while it may take me to task later
for the abuse, at present it is quite happy, even if stretched to its
full limit.”
Legolas shook his head as the man contentedly lay with eyes shut,
letting drowsiness creep upon him. “Tsk! You cannot sleep in those
clothes. They are probably the only truly decent ones in your
possession, and you should take greater pains to keep them thus. Get
up.” The elf poked Strider into sitting, and assisted the man in
undressing. As Legolas smoothed and straightened the items before
placing them in the wardrobe, the Ranger retreated into his bed,
clutching his covers tightly.
“You’re not making me take another bath this soon,” he groused.
The Prince gave him a surprised look, then smiled indulgently. “No, I
will not put you through such punishment.” He crossed the room and sat
on the edge of the bed, giving a delicate sniff at the now relaxed man.
“Your clumsy exertions were not enough to cause the usual odorous
results.”
He was nearly shoved off the bed again. “Those ‘exertions’ were dances,
and if I was clumsy, it was partly your fault.”
“My fault? Only so far as I was not your dance teacher, and therefore
you have not the benefit of my expertise in finesse…”
A loud snort interrupted the elf’s elaboration. “Aye, your fault, for
you held me back to only the slower dances, which meant I had closer
contact with whichever lovely elf maiden I partnered, and…well…” The
man’s hot blush made the rest of the explanation unneeded.
Legolas had a moment of complete sympathy for his companion. Aye, there is only one specific lovely
elf-maid he wishes to be so close to. Patience, my
heart-brother…someday you may fulfill your desire. The moment
dissipated, and the prince continued his taunt, though moving away from
the real reason for the Ranger’s discomfiture. “I had not worry for any
dancer’s toes, as Mirkwood ladies are nimble enough to escape your
heavy tread. Rather my concern, after you had indulged in wining and
excessive - you admitted! - dining, was that a fast pace of twirling
and leaping about would…er, bring up some problems.”
At the elf’s delicate wording, the Ranger tried and failed to muffle
his laughter with his pillow. Legolas folded his arms and scowled at
the twitching form beside him. “You laugh now, but if it had happened,
not only would it have been disgusting, it would have frightened some
who are naïve to that variety of Human ailment.” The Prince
swatted the back of Strider’s head. “You would be shaking in fear
rather than merriment had you been remanded to the Master Healer’s care
once more.”
Strider’s laughter abated. “You are correct, mellon nin; he bespoke
some
quite torturous sounding treatments to prescribe for me upon my next
appointment…not very appropriate from one dedicated to alleviating pain
and suffering, if you ask me.”
“I did not ask, and I must commiserate with him that healers do
make the worst of patients.” He gave the Ranger a thoughtful look; the
man glared back in outrage at the insult even though he secretly agreed
with the remark. “At least,” Legolas continued cheerily, “none of our
esteemed healers have ‘The Look of Doom’ with which Lord Elrond would
grace (or curse) you if under his tender ministrations. I myself quail
at the very remembrance of the times he has favored me thus.”
Strider shuddered dramatically. “I should give thanks for small mercies
indeed.” He rolled onto his back and stretched, limbs again making
faint popping noises here and there. “I feel confident to say that,
even formidable as is your father…” He noted the elf’s hasty raising of
a hand to hide a grin. Thranduil IS
so; even given our recent camaraderie, if the King were to suddenly
appear in the room, my name from his lips in the tone he commands his
guards, I would likely crash through the ceiling in shock.
“…that Elrond would be victorious against him in the War of the Dread
Visage.”
Legolas chortled aloud. “Mayhap you have it aright. There have
been times when I could not look my father eye to eye; yet never have I
simply felt the impending whip lash of his brow, risen haughtily to
strike out ere resuming its normal place.”
Elf and man both made poor attempts at imitating the ‘eyebrow of doom’,
though Strider came very close, and were soon nearly aching with
laughter. Legolas recovered first. “I am compelled to defend my King,”
he announced, the seriousness of his tone marred by an occasional
escaping snicker. “Lord Elrond, whilst wielding a most deadly weapon,
must yet be in the same room as his victim for effectiveness. My
father, however, can bring beings in separate rooms to their knees;
they need not look upon him at all…his commanding bellow strikes their
hearts as sharp as any steel.”
Legolas assumed a Princely stance, and took a deep breath, his elven
glow brightening. The elf’s next words did nearly send a shocked
Strider through the roof. “GREENLEAF! WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT
BRINGING FILTHY PETS AND HUMANS INTO THIS PALACE AND LETTING THEM RUN
RAMPANT? I SHALL HAVE THEM CAUGHT AND SERVED AT NEXT FEAST, AND YOU
HUNG FROM A TREE BY YOUR EARS!” At the Ranger’s expression, Legolas
began to laugh, then suddenly clamped a hand over his mouth, sprinted
to the door and peered out nervously up and down the hall. Seeing no
bodies either cringing in fright or running wildly for help, he
retreated into the room, leaned against the wall and sighed in great
relief.
Strider was staring in awe at his friend. “That was amazing. And scary.
And you accuse me of begging for trouble.” He settled himself prone
again while the elf found a convenient chair to collapse in. As the elf
regained normal composure, Strider commented, “If your father catches
you impersonating him thusly, I wager your backside may be next up for
a visit to the healing wing.”
Legolas grimaced indignantly. “He would never...surely he
wouldn’t…mayhap he would.” The Prince squirmed uncomfortably at the
idea. “Well, I suppose I should deserve it if I let myself be caught.
At least that result would only land me abed awhile; I should not have
to partake of any of the usual nasty concoctions the healers would
force on me when else within their clutches.”
“AHA!” Strider’s cry caused the elf’s heart to skip a beat. “I have had
a revelation concerning the ultimate threat of doom, and my own Lord
Elrond beats your King for ownership of it.”
“Pray share this revelation with me, for I am unable to fathom how that
could be.” Legolas scooted to the bedside and leaned close, as if spies
might be lurking close by to steal the valuable information.
“Elrond's ultimate weapon not only can affect a body in another room,
but reaches even so far as other realms, for the Lord may send this
dread thing apart from himself and it stay true to his will. The
incredible power of the hideous thing not only turns men and elves into
mewling infants, but also sucks the vitality entirely out of them -
they become like the dead. Each of us at some time has had to fight
succumbing to its potent effect.” Strider carefully watched
Legolas’ reactions as the elf considered the possibilities, rejecting
one after another in rapid succession until, at last, a look of
amazement came over him.
“Lord Elrond’s ‘Special Tea’!” Elf and Human voices spoke at the same
time. Another bout of laughing prevented any more words for a goodly
time. When all was again silent, Strider gave another prodigious yawn.
Legolas’ eyes had teared from his laughing. He wiped the moisture away
as he rose, fully intending to finally let the man get some sleep. “I
concede that Lord Elrond is the victor in this strange battle of power.
I would warn that you not let him know of this dubious honor lest you
find yourself ‘volunteered’ to test new and ‘improved’ medicines he no
doubt is constantly creating. With that, I shall leave you to your
dreams. Rest well, mellon nin.”
“Legolas?” The prince’s last words had a touch of sadness that worried
the Ranger. Legolas turned back, embarrassed that he had not controlled
his emotions better. “Is aught wrong?”
“Nay…aye…you will be leaving tomorrow.”
Strider nodded, also saddened at the fact. “I must be getting back and
doing my part with the other Rangers; though trouble has also been less
for us recently, I fear it only the calm before a storm. I wish most of
my time here hadn’t been in the Healing Ward so it might have been more
pleasant for you.”
“Strider!” the elf admonished, “the whole of your visit was, shall we
say, more restful than usual, but certainly no less pleasant for me
than any other.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Not that I found it
pleasant for you to be in the healing ward…!”
“I understand what you mean; don’t fret,” he calmed his chagrined
friend. An idea came to the man, and his gray eyes gleamed as he
revealed it to the elf.
Legolas' blue eyes soon matched that gleam in satisfaction and more
than a little mischief. "Tis well enough with Mirkwood now that she
could manage without her prince in constant attendance for a week, or
two, or even a month. I will tonight track down two of the more
adventurous of my guard to accompany us to your camp and mayhap consent
to stay for the duration of my visit. The other Rangers will not mind
this elf 'invasion' and disruption of their duty?"
"They, as I, will be most appreciative of your presence. I am more
concerned at how your father will feel about your, um, vacation plans."
The prince stared at the ceiling, or perhaps the heavens, for some
moments. "I shall take a messenger bird and sent it back with
information of my whereabouts when we are well away." Ada will rant a bit, then accept it and
be glad I am enjoying myself.
The Ranger could almost envision the thoughts in the elf's head. "Let
us make quite certain we are very well away. No wonder your father has
enmity toward me - with this event, at worst he will suppose I abducted
you, at best he will vow I am a 'bad influence' on his innocent son."
Legolas brushed off the man's concerns. "You are a bad influence, but I
will explain tis not your fault, for you have been badly influenced by
your brothers."
"Oh. Very well; since they are already under doom of entombment here
anyway…" Strider grinned at a sudden thought. "You realize we might be
enduring their antics at least part of the time you are visiting?"
Elladan and Elrohir had gone orc hunting with the Rangers since before
Strider's time. The brothers had largely given up the pursuit during
the man’s youngling days to be with him in Imladris; however, once an
adult Strider had learned of and joined his Human kin, the elf twins
had continued the previous tradition, though with some less frequency
and duration.
Legolas groaned, for though he was usually thrilled at the twins'
company, the two often acted of a manner to earn their label ‘the
Terrors’. “Fear not,” Strider chuckled at his friend’s worry. “If they
make an appearance, I will keep them in line. And if they do not behave
for me or you, there is always the King to take them to task.”
Legolas was puzzled. “He will not be so incensed over my departure as
to make a personal appearance for my retrieval. With all respect to the
Rangers, my King will not be attending their camp.”
“He would not have to be seen to make an impression, only heard.”
“You must be quite tired, Ranger - if he is not there, how could his
voice…oh.” The Prince became gleeful in his anticipation. “That is one
trick I have not yet played on those two. Mind you, it will only likely
work the once…but it should be a glorious prank.”
“We will discuss the details for it on the way to camp. I am going to
sleep now. You should do… whatever it is you do now too. Rest well.”
Legolas doused the lights before leaving, hearing the Ranger’s
breathing slow and deepen even as the elf slipped out the door. It was good to hear Strider laugh
today…one of the best medicines for what ailed him. Returning to
his own room, Legolas began packing for his venture. When done, he
sought out and conspired with the chosen guards to be ready for
departure at first light.
Back in his room for the remaining night, the Prince sat in his wide
windowsill, gazing at the glittering stars in the clear sky. It has been a fine day, and the future
holds promise as well. We will have a grand time, I know it.
Eventually he eased into a relaxed reverie, his dreams following those
of the sleeping human in the next room; both beings eager even in their
rest to participate in the unfolding of the new and bright day
ahead.
The End
Author's Notes on Sindarin Elvish:
Ada: daddy.
Adar would be more formal, as for father.
Mellon nin:
my friend
Horses: Morril (mor:
dark, ril: brilliance) and
Glosmir (glos: white, mir: jewel)
Stories > Lessons of Life Series > Previous story "Midnight
Musings" > "The Best Medicine"
> Next story "How
to Dim a Too-Bright Elf"
top